


Half Past Ten

by gentlegrain



Category: Agents of Cracked
Genre: M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1582907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlegrain/pseuds/gentlegrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael likes to smoke after sex. Dan hasn't ever smoked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half Past Ten

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks/apologies to T.

"Come on, man," Dan sighs, patiently pushing away the hands failing to unbuckle his belt from behind. "You know I can't. My job interview starts in less than an hour. I have to look presentable."

"For what?"

"The... The job interview I just mentioned, like five seconds ago. Weren't you– ah, nevermind." It's pointless to get mad now. If he can keep his cool for the three minutes or so it takes for Michael to be distracted by something else he thinks he wants, he can make it to the job interview on time, and then maybe they could afford to exist outside Dan's parents' basement. It's not that Dan doesn't love them, or Michael, or they him (probably). It's just that if he has to explain to Michael what is and isn't okay to do with/to pudding in front of two elderly farmers one more time, Dan thinks he might have to stab himself. If he returns the suit his dad borrowed him for the sole purpose of this interview in less than mint condition, he might not even be able to share the same room.

"But boners," Michael protests. He stops trying to take off the belt and moves his hands slightly downwards, trying to manually inspire Dan to do it himself.

For a fraction of a second, Dan agrees with Michael's compelling argument, but the thought of his mother's openly pitying and secretly judging gaze upon the two of them helps him banish the boner he'd been in danger of getting. He steps away from the taller man's reach and, now that he's closer to the mirror, starts tying a Windsor. "Not now."

"Alright," Michael says, and flops down on the ratty old sofa in the corner. "Whatever."

Dan instantly recognizes the tone as the one he should pay attention to if he doesn't want to find the house on fire when he gets back. He decides the tie can wait and lets it hang loosely around his neck as he turns around to face Michael.

"Something on your mind, Michael?"

Michael is pouting like the five-year-old he often mentally is, and when he sees Dan looking, he crosses his arms just to be even more dramatic. "Dan, when was the last time the two of us had sex?"

"Never, technically? I mean, Kelly Wheeler was..." Dan makes a face and internally begs for that particular memory to go away. "...There. Where are you going with this?"

"Ever since the blimp, I thought we'd – you know." Michael makes a complicated series of sweeping and grabbing gestures.

"It wasn't a blimp, and there's no way anyone would know what that means."

"I thought we'd become an item," Michael says, in that same subdued no-nonsense tone Dan will always remember from the hot air balloon.

"Right," Dan says, wonderingly. "We are one, though. We're definitely on the same page about that."

"Since I'm the man in this relationship, I think I'm the one who gets to choose which kind of item," Michael continues. "And I choose a bone. Because that's what couples do, I'm told! Like,  _all_  the time."

"Right," Dan repeats, less surprised. "Well, I'm not delusional enough to claim that either one of us is an expert on being in a healthy and stable relationship, or being healthy or stable in general, but I'm  _pretty_  sure there are other things to it than sex."

"Like what?" Michael asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I don't think I could make a baby for you. Ever since Ohio I haven't been able to see ovens."

Dan almost comments on that one and catches himself just in time. "You... won't have to. I'm talking about things like taking care of each other, and that's why I need this job, Michael. Neither of us got to keep anything from when we died--  _pretended_  to have died", he quickly corrects, because he doesn't have time for derailment. "I don't want either one of us to end up dead for real of starvation, or exposure, or disease, or straight-up murder."

Michael snorts. "I learned how to eat by watching you. I could probably unlearn it if I needed to."

Dan pinches the bridge of his nose. "Even if that were possible,  _I'm_  not magic, remember? And if I don't get a job, who's gonna pay for all the things you're bound to set on fire sooner or later?"

There's no response, and Dan makes the mistake of thinking that they've reached the logical end of their conversation, so he turns back to the mirror and fastidiously checks his suit. As he draws his tie up to his collar, he hears Michael mutter: "You're not going to mail me back to the West Coast, are you?"

Dan freezes.

Nope. He did not just say that.

His mouth feels dry when he responds: "Considering that I've sacrificed all, literally  _all_  other aspects of my life to keep you around..." He shouldn't need to finish the sentence for the sentiment to carry over.

"But you'd have me die of blue balls while you're out whoring yourself to some corporation?"

"That's not a thing that happens. It's impossible to die of that, Michael."

"Maybe for you. How do you know I can't?"

That gives Dan pause, and he has to look now; he can't  _not_  look. Michael is staring at him with a slightly manic expression that implies he, at the very least, is honestly under the  _belief_  that it's entirely possible, for  _him_ , to pass out and away purely out of sexual frustration. And maybe he does look a bit paler than usual, now that Dan's taken a good look. Rings around his eyes. Are his hands shaking? Hasn't he been getting progressively worse these past few days, in every possible respect? He'd just written it all off as Windex withdrawals, but could it have been-- no. No.

"No  _fucking_  way," he says, then clarifies: "I'm not necessarily saying I don't believe you, I just can't believe that my life keeps getting more and more unbelievable at a pace I can never catch up with. Every time I think I'm starting to get the hang of it–"

"What's unbelievable is that you're still talking when you could be saving my life with sex right now," Michael accuses.

"Exactly." Don't let him work you up, O'Brien! He knows your chivalry is your one weakness! Aside from crippling social anxiety, asthma, poor self-esteem, sensitivity to pain, Spider-man, and a really long list of other things. Just humor him, like you always do. 

He takes a look at his wristwatch. "I can spare you..."

"Yay!"

"...Exactly four minutes."

"Yay?"

"Or I could just go right now, and you can wait till I get back home."

"Neigh! I can work with that." In the time it takes Dan to blink twice, Michael has gotten naked and back onto the sofa. "So how are we gonna do this? Because I'm ready to rock. Back and forth. Left and right."

Dan hesitates. "I can see that. Um, I think I can... Yeah. Just sit there."

He gets on his knees, steels himself for the approach, and ends up plunging at Michael's crotch in slow motion, face first, eyes screwed tightly shut. He feels the tip of his nose touch something and seizes in rigor mortification.

At this point in their acquaintance, it would be impossible for Dan to not be intimately familiar with Michael's dick and its inherent weirdness; he has seen it, smelled it, heard it, and even felt it. But it's one thing to be aware of the existence and features of some guy's dick and another thing entirely to put it in your mouth - especially if you've considered yourself very much straight your entire life.

Not that Michael is _just some guy_.

Michael refuses to lift his head off the back rest and makes eye contact with the ceiling instead as he complains: "I don't know what's going on down there, but nothing's happening up here."

"I, uh, need a minute."

"You're not gonna need all four of them, are you? You swore an oath to me, man."

Dan clears his throat. "I'm gonna be honest with you. I don't really know what I'm doing here."

"Ugh. What does that even  _mean_? I know you have one too, microscopic as it may be - well, maybe not microscopic. What's the opposite of humongous?"

He scratches the back of his neck. "Minuscule, probably? I guess what I'm saying is that I'm familiar with the theoretical aspect of this, but in practice-- is there, like, a trick? Some kind of technique? Do I just... What do I do?"

Michael, still staring straight upwards, throws his hands in the air, like he's having an argument with God. "Blowjobs are not a difficult concept! You've never seen porn, in your life? How is it that you suck so hard in every other aspect of life except literally?"

"Of course I've seen porn, but I wasn't exactly taking notes! I didn't occur to me that I'd ever be  _quizzed_ , you know?! I barely even know how to please a woman–"

"You don't."

"Which you know perfectly well, so what makes you think I know a single thing about–  _this_?"

"Jesus Christ," Michael sighs. "Send a Dan to do a man's job..." He finally looks down at Dan with pity, bends over, and takes himself in his own mouth in a glorious display of flexibility.

There's no denying that Dan is instantly fascinated. Michael's head bobs up and down on his long, lean shaft, cheeks hollowed out. He lets his dick pop out of his mouth once, and it sways a little, glistening with saliva in the dim, yellowish light cast by the single lamp in the basement corner. His left hand guides it back into his mouth and pumps the base of the shaft along to the rhythm. At the end of his brief educational demonstration, he gives the tip an outrageous little lick.

Dan has never invested a lot of time in his life thinking about this sort of scenario. He's nervous about even naming this, this act of watching his male partner give himself a blowjob. He'd thought he'd put together his sexual identity long before he'd ever left the East Coast, so a large part of him rebels against the very concept of the situation. It's unreal, to be sure. A little ridiculous, too. But if he's perfectly honest with himself, can he say he's anywhere near revolted? That his proverbial boat is not being floated? Dan shifts nervously under Michael's heavy-lidded gaze, suddenly aware of his own shallow breathing.

"And now you." Michael smiles encouragingly.

Dan nods gravely and leans close again. He realizes he's been holding his breath, and exhales so close to Michael's dick he can practically taste it already.

Dan licks his lips and opens his mouth.

Michael shivers.

"Or I could just give you a handjob," Dan chickens out.

"Whatever!" Michael exclaims. "God! I'm not above begging, but you're killing me here, man. Literally! Just– whatever. A handjob is fine."

"Okay."

Dan stares at the palm of his right hand. This should be no trouble at all, assuming Michael's junk isn't magic as well. Actually, should he be wearing some sort of safety gloves? Like the kind that evil scientists use in movies? He notices the watch on his wrist. The glass on it is ever-so-slightly cracked, damaged by some work-related misadventure he can no longer remember in detail. Dan's mind wells with images of various kinds of major life failure, both past and (speculated) future.

"... You know, Michael, do you think you could actually just go do this by yourself in the bathroom? My job interview--"

Michael stops Dan's retreat by grabbing him by the tie. "It's only been two minutes and forty-two seconds, and you owe me a better excuse than that."

Dan narrows his eyes and checks his watch again. "Was that just a really good guess, or were you actually counting? I don't think I've ever seen you count that high."

"Several legitimate studies conducted by UNESCO show that I'm 500% gooder at stuff when nudity is involved. In continental Europe, I'm known as the Rain Man of Sex." Michael lifts his chin up in earnest pride. "I think it's a reference to that song by The Weather Girls."

"Studies? Song..?" Dan stuffs his hands in his suit pockets and sighs. "I guess I just... Sex seems so important to you, and I don't want you to find out that I'm so bad at it that you decide to find someone else to have it with."

"Dan," Michael laughs teasingly, and quickly repeats it, much more soberly, when he sees Dan's face.

Dan shrugs. "I'm just saying, you can't honestly say that wouldn't ever happen."

Michael rolls his eyes. "Dan, every single person in the world over the age of  _twelve_  is better at sex than you are. But that just means you need practice!" He nudges at him with his elbow. "Until you get the high score, huh? Well,  _second_  highest score."

"I guess so", Dan mutters, frowning. He's a little worried that Michael seems to be making so much sense.

Michael claps him on the shoulder like they're just two guys hanging out (while one of them is naked and possibly dying in the other's parents' basement). "Your only problem is that you've been soloing a multiplayer game like a total moob and missing out on all the sweet XP bonuses! But luckily for you, you get to learn from the best."

Despite himself, Dan grins a little. When Michael reaches out and starts unbuttoning his shirt, he doesn't protest.

"Okay. Now, I know you're beginner level, and you're also a huge pussy, so we'll start out with the kiddie stuff, alright? Sex ed 101: Dicks are magic, so if you put yours in someone's mouth, it turns into a vagina with a tongue..."

 

* * *

 

There's ash on the sheets, on Dan's chest, in what remains of Dan's hair. Everything Michael says and does is so wrong, and smoking is no exception.

He waves the hand holding his cigarette dismissively. "Of course you were gonna believe me! You always do when you start thinking with your dick instead of your kidneys."

"You're such a tool, man."

"A tool is a different word for 'item', right?"

"I–- yeah. It is."


End file.
